Page 5 of Bound to the Orc Ranger

A grunt echoes through the clearing, jerking me upright from a slouched doze.

The first rays of sun cut over the treetops, sliced by the pointed tops of pines into ribbons of gold. Other trees mingle with the evergreens, their leaves a vibrant light blue. Fog hugs the ground between the trunks, clearing here and there enough to show glimpses of rich green moss and blue-green ferns. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.

A bird darts overhead, trilling a fluting song.

Another grunt from behind spins me around.

“Ahhh!”

A man grasps the sides of the standing stone, his long arms wrapping halfway around it. Only it’s not aman.

He’s at least eight-feet tall, his skin gray and pebbly, like elephant hide. A ragged brown fur pelt wraps around him like a loincloth, the skin of the animal legs used to tie it on without sewing of any kind.

His leg rises, his knee trying to grip the stone, and he grunts again as he slips back down.

“Are you here to help?”

At the sound of my voice, his head tips back, and his dark eyes narrow as he sees me. Bald and eyebrowless, his features look rough and half-formed, like a child played with clay but got bored and stopped before finishing.

“Grack o lag.” He licks his lips like I’m dinner and attacks the stone with his whole body, trying to climb using nothing but might.

And shit if it doesn’t look like it’s working.

My heart pounds as fear shoots ice through my veins. I grasp my necklace. “If ever you were going to do something magical, now’s the time.”

Nothing.

A huge gray hand slaps onto the top of the stone only a couple of feet away, and I scrabble backward instinctively on hands and knees. Another hand smacks onto the top of the stone, and the gray monster’s face crests the edge, leering so hard drool drips from the corners of his mouth.

My foot goes off the other edge of the stone, and I pant in panic. Risk a twenty-foot fall or let this thing get a hold of me?

He steals all choice from me as a meaty hand clamps onto my shoulder and yanks me forward.

Oh, god. Oh, god. This can’t be happening!

My heart leaps like a rabbit, banging against the cage of my ribs.

I scrabble against the stone, bearing backward with all my strength, but it only makes him laugh as he pulls me forward slowly, his eyes gleaming with joy at my distress. My breath comes too fast—I can’t get enough air, can’t even scream.

A yell rings through the air with the deep bass note of a large man.

A flash of movement between the trees turns into another monster, this one green. He dashes into the clearing, tall and covered in a green shirt and brown leather pants that clings to his muscles in a way that means the clothes were made specifically for him. A braid keeps his long black hair out of his face, which is very square-jawed, yet ruggedly handsome, even with two large teeth—fangs? tusks?—jutting upward from each side of his mouth. The tips of his ears poke through his thick hair, pointed like an elf’s.

Right now I don’t give a shit about his skin color or extreme need to floss. The fact that he looks vaguely civilized and like he took a bath sometime in the past century means he gets my vote.

I force out a choked cry. “Help me!”

His eyes meet mine, and he jolts in surprise. Then a steely determination firms his jaw as he runs faster. The green man yells, “Skagur blok drevistie!”

A flutter of hope stirs in my chest.

The gray monster stops playing games. The slow creep of his arm pulling me to him turns into a yank. I fall face first, my nose smacking into a hard, sour-smelling shoulder as his hand moves to get a better grip on my back.

Panic shoots icy needles through me.

I’m out of time.

CHAPTER FOUR

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